The Dead Series (Book 3): Dead Weight

by Jon Schafer

  Steve watched as a waterlogged Z latched onto the side of the cockpit and tried to pull itself on board. It slipped and fell into the gap next to the hull with a splash and vanished but was immediately replaced by three more of the rotted, dead things. Too out of breath to scream a warning, he ran the length of the boat and jumped down into the cockpit. Thrusting out his boat pole, he skewered one of the things through the mouth. It squealed in rage but didn’t die, its brain still intact. He pulled the pole loose and thrust out again, this time punching through the thing’s forehead with a sound like a hand thumping an overripe watermelon.

  Brain, seeing what was happening, drew his .45 and shot the other two in the face while Steve dropped into a crouch, preparing himself for the next Z that tried to come on board. The front edge of a horde of more than a thousand walking dead was within feet of The Usual Suspects. Not wanting to go down like this, Steve re-gripped the boat pole, fear sweeping through him as he tried to figure a way out. They were locked in by the trash in the bay, but if they could hold off the dead long enough, they might be able to escape across the wreckage on foot, like the dead had come at them.

  Then the thought struck him. Escape to where?

  A hammering noise began to fill the air, causing the almost motionless sailboat to shake with the concussion. The familiar sound of the .50 echoed around them as Tick-Tock brought the muzzle around and swept the mass of dead converging on The Usual Suspects. His first burst came in low, cutting some of the dead in half while others were pushed back by the impact of the heavy rounds, but his second burst was right on target. Heads exploded in sprays of black puss as Sheila, Connie and Heather added their fire into the mass. The volume of outgoing fire was tremendous and gave them hope, but the dead outnumbered the bullets flying at them by ten to one.

  Seeing they would soon be overrun despite the reinforcements, Steve dropped his boat pole and rushed to the wheel. He nudged the throttle forward until he felt the bow stop against the debris holding them fast, then pushed it all the way forward.

  The little engine at the rear of the sailboat screamed as it fought against the mass blocking it. Slowly at first, but with more momentum as the interwoven edge of trash broke apart, The Usual Suspects pushed forward. The Z’s continued to come at them in waves from behind, while safety lay only a few feet in front. The dead reached over those being shot down and clawed at the sides of the sailboat.

  Steve saw the first of them climb over the transom and retrieved his boat pole, preparing for the final stand. He moved to stand next to Heather. They were exchanging quick glances of what they thought would be their final farewell when a sudden lurch threw them to the deck.

  Steve looked up at the sky from where he lay on his back, then let out a whoop of triumph as the sailboat freed itself and shot into the open water of Galveston Bay.

  ***

  Pulling back on the throttle, Steve idled the boat. He moved to stand next to Tick-Tock and took in the grotesque mob of dead standing at the edge of the debris field. Some tried to pursue them and fell into the water, but most just stood and looked at them with dull, glazed eyes and expressions of hunger as more Z’s staggered and crawled their way from land to join them.

  From where he was slumped against the gunwale, Brain said, “Fuck me running.”

  “They might if they catch you, but I think they’d eat you first,” Tick-Tock replied.

  Heather laughed and said, “They’d definitely eat you and then you’d be fucked.” Reaching down to scratch Pep behind the ears, she added, “I don’t know what breed he is but I’d say he’s a pointer. Did you see how he was barking at the Z’s?”

  “Actually, it’s a she,” Steve said.

  “He or she, it doesn’t matter,” Connie pointed out. “She’s good with Cindy, and after losing Susan she’ll look out for...” Her voice trailed off as she shot a glance at Tick-Tock.

  A flash of pain crossed Tick-Tock’s face but he covered it up quickly and changed the subject. Turning to Steve, he said, “Good move busting us free. I thought we were through.”

  Steve nodded and said, “That was too close.” Heading toward the side of the boat, he said, “Help me take a look at the hull. With all that crap in the water, I want to make sure we didn’t take any damage.”

  The two men leaned over the sides of the boat as they worked their way forward. Now that they were in open water they didn’t think anything would reach up and grab them, but after what they’d just been through, they kept one eye on the water.

  Reaching the bow of the sailboat, Steve thought they were home free until he heard a low, “Oh shit,” come from Tick-Tock.

  Joining him on the port side, he leaned over and saw what had caused his friend’s exclamation of disgust. A piece of wood had pierced the hull of the sailboat just below the waterline. Four inches square, it still had a sign attached to it. Leaning closer, he could see that the faded paint read, ‘Welcome to Texas City.’

  “Must have happened before I could throttle back when we broke free,” Steve said, and then asked, “Should we pull it out?”

  Tick-Tock shook his head and replied, “No, we need to leave it in place and stuff some rags around it to try and seal the hole. If we pull it out, we’ll take on water faster, maybe too fast for the pumps to handle. These boats have a double hull, and it’s only stuck in the outer one, so we should be good if we take it slow from here on out. The pumps ought to be able to handle whatever leaks through.”

  Calling for towels, Tick-Tock held Steve’s legs while he hung over the side and wedged them into the cracks around the post. When he was done, his friend hauled him up and together they looked at their makeshift patch job.

  “Think it’ll hold?” Steve asked.

  “For a while,” Tick-Tock replied. “I think it’s time to find a new boat though.”

  Looking at the desolate landscape that used to be a city, Steve said, “That’ll be a pretty tall order. Whatever didn’t burn is long gone.”

  Tick-Tock moved back to the cockpit and pulled out a chart. He studied it a minute before saying, “We might find something up the San Jacinto River.” Pointing to where it emptied into the bay, he added, “That might be a good place to look since we’re definitely not going ashore anywhere around here. I know our original plan was to land in Texas City and find the nearest library, but I think we have to re-evaluate that now.” Tracing the route of the river, he said, “We can follow it up to where I10 or even 90 crosses it and get off there. That’ll be more of a residential area, so there might be less Z’s around.”

  Mary had joined them on deck and looked with disgust at the crowd of dead that had doubled in size since they’d stopped for repairs. Standing and crawling on the raft of what used to be a city, it looked to her to be well over three thousand. As more arrived, they pushed from the back and forced those in the front into the water.

  “And if it looks like that?” She asked. “What will we do then?”

  “We’ll find another spot,” Tick-Tock replied.

  “What if everything’s like this? I mean, we were holed up in the radio station and then on the Dead Calm, so this is the first look we’ve had at a big city. What if this is all that’s left? What if everything is like this?”

  “Then we’re screwed,” Tick-Tock answered in a matter of fact tone.

  Mary didn’t like this answer and went below.

  Steve shook his head and said, “Lighten up on her a little bit. I know she’s a drag, but she’s part of the group whether we like it or not.” Turning his attention to the map, he pointed to a spot further upstream and said, “Looks like we can follow the river all the way to Lake Houston if we need to. I’d rather travel as far as we can by water, as long as we don’t run into another logjam. The main thing is finding a library. First place we find to stop, we’ll do a recon and find a phonebook, then we can find a library.”

  Tick-Tock folded the chart and said, “So let’s get to it.”

  Looking at the crowd
of dead, Steve told him, “I want to take care of something first.”

  Reaching into the cubby under the steering station, he came out with a red case and said, “When I was hanging over the side plugging the leak, I noticed there wasn’t any fuel in the water. No smell either. I think that all the wood and garbage in the water soaked it up, and that’s why it was so bad when we were moving through it.”

  Tick-Tock looked over the side and scanned the surrounding waters before saying, “You’re right, it looks clear. Can’t really smell anything either.”

  Extracting a flare gun from the case, Steve said, “So I want to give our friends over there a parting gift. Grab the wheel and take us a little further out, I want to be as far away as possible.”

  Tick-Tock pushed the throttle forward slowly, so as not to jar the signpost stuck in the hull. He found he could only go at a walking pace before the boat started to shudder, so he kept their speed low. When they were a hundred feet away, he idled the engine and let the sailboat coast to a stop. Having earlier retreated to the air-conditioned comfort of the cabin, everyone except Cindy now crowded the small cockpit to watch, after Brain told them what Steve planned to do.

  The water was flat and reflected the sun off its brown surface as Steve inserted the cartridge into the flare gun. Aiming it in an arc, he said, “Roast in hell,” before squeezing the trigger.

  The gun went off with a loud pop and everyone’s eyes followed the burning blob as it arced across the sky. Expecting it to land before setting the dead alight, they were surprised when the air burst into flames while the flare was still fifteen feet up, as the fumes hanging over the debris field ignited with a loud whooshing noise.

  To those on the sailboat, it looked like the sky itself had caught fire.

  Squinting against the glare, they could see that the dead in the area where the fumes first ignited were literally blown off their feet and set alight. A ball of flame raced outward and engulfed the thousands of dead clustered in the area. Some went up like roman candles as what was left of their clothing caught fire, while others just seemed to melt before their eyes. On the outer edge of the blast, fingers of fire raced across the top of the mass of wreckage to ignite pools of gas and oil. Here, the dead were turned into walking torches until the heat literally boiled the brains in their skulls and dropped them. A huge pillar of black smoke billowed up from what was left of the wreckage of Texas City.

  Everyone watched in fascination until the smell hit them. The odor of burned petroleum mixed with a stink like rancid pork roasting in vinegar made them gag. Mary leaned over the side to empty her stomach contents, and this seemed to be the catalyst to start everyone vomiting. Tick-Tock pulled his shirt up over his nose and took the wheel, steering them away as he dry heaved. Once clear of the area, everyone except him and Steve went below.

  Gagging slightly, Tick-Tock said, “Next time you do something like that, let’s make sure we’re upwind first.”

  “We were upwind,” Steve replied.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Russellville, Arkansas

  Major Jedidiah Cage stood at the gate of the compound and waited for the patrol to come in. They were already an hour overdue and had been out of radio contact since leaving on a routine reconnaissance of the perimeter. Adding to this, Jones was leading the squad, so Cage was doubly worried. The recently promoted Lieutenant was one of his favorites and had served under him before D-Day, the day the dead raised up to challenge the living for control of the Earth.

  Checking his watch for the tenth time in as many minutes, he turned to his radioman and said, “Try it again.”

  The man raised his handset and pressed the transmit button before saying, “Gargoyle one, this is Notre Dame, come in, over.” He repeated the message and waited for a reply. After a minute, he said, “Nothing, sir.”

  Seeing the worried look on his Commander’s face, he added, “Could be any number of things, sir.”

  Cage nodded. It could be a dead radio, a dead battery or dead people. With everything in the world running down and supplies running out, the first two were a definite possibility. They hadn’t heard any gunfire, so the patrol more than likely hadn’t run into any Z’s, but this couldn’t be ruled out. The latest intelligence from a satellite sweep over the area had reported a congregation of over five thousand dead to their east and north. If the Z’s were on the move, they could overrun Jones and his patrol in a matter of seconds.

  His fears were relieved when the radio crackled to life and Jones’ voice came over the speaker. “Notre Dame, Notre Dame this is gargoyle one, over.”

  Before the radioman could reply, Cage grabbed the handset and said, “Gargoyle one, this is the hunchback. What is your location? Over.”

  “In the tree line just off the road about a hundred meters from your position, sir. I’m looking at you right now. We’ve got a situation, over.”

  “What’s going on gargoyle one? Over.” Cage asked as he scanned the area with his binoculars and found Jones crouched next to a deadfall.

  “There’s a group of about a hundred Z’s to our left in the trees, and I know as soon as we break cover, they’re going to be all over us. It took an hour to even find a place to come into base. We’ve got Z’s all over the place, sir. The radio antennae broke so this is the first time I’ve been in range to call, over.”

  Cage scanned the tree line they had cut back to give them a clear field of fire. Deep in the shadows of the woods he could see movement. It was nothing more than shadows that seemed to appear and disappear, but he knew it could only be one thing; the walking dead plaguing the area.

  Cage ordered the radioman to switch channels to the communication center and said into the handset, “Prairie fire, prairie fire. I repeat, prairie fire, prairie fire.”

  These were the code words to call everyone with a weapon to the fence and let them know that the shit was about to hit the fan. Three loud blasts from a horn came from the center of the base. This was followed within seconds by men and women appearing from all over the compound to take up position on the perimeter. In the distance, a series of generators came to life, charging up the electric fence.

  When his people were in place, Cage called out at the top of his voice, “There’s a team coming in down the road, so watch your fire.”

  This command was repeated up and down the line as Cage motioned for his radioman to switch the channel back before saying, “We’ve got you covered, Jones. Come in whenever you’re ready, over.”

  “We’re ready and we’re coming in,” came the reply.

  Cage watched as Jones and the six men of the recon team broke cover and ran down the road toward him. In the still Arkansas afternoon, he could almost hear their boots pounding on the asphalt and the gasps of their labored breathing.

  They had only made it twenty feet when the first of the dead broke cover to come after them.

  Dressed in a ragged pair of grease stained coveralls, the thing might have once been a mechanic. It died its second death when a 7.62 round from one of the snipers shattered its skull. A half a dozen more followed its demise as they emerged from the woods and were dropped by the accurate rifle fire of the men and women along the perimeter. No more appeared, so the soldiers held their fire instead of shooting blindly into the woods. Fire control was mandatory, since the only ammunition available was what had been stored on the base and what they could scrounge from the area around it.

  The flow of electricity was cut and the gate opened as Jones and his men approached. When they were through, it was closed and secured, and the fence charged again. Safe, the men of the patrol dropped to the ground, breathing heavily. As Cage approached, they started to get up but he waved at them to stay where they were.

  “Report,” he ordered after giving Jones a minute to catch his breath.

  Taking a swig from his canteen, he said, “We ran into the shit as soon as we hit the outskirts of Russellville. There were Z’s all over the place. We also saw a group of at least four
to five hundred more heading this way, sir.”

  Cage digested this. These new Z’s, added to the ones already around the compound, spelt trouble. He’d read reports about bands of the dead numbering in the tens of thousands roaming the country in search of food. If a force that size showed up and hit the base, there would be no stopping them. They would overwhelm the electric fence and the defenders in a matter of minutes.

  Nodding at Jones to continue, he listened as the Lieutenant said, “We were playing hide and seek with them for hours. The radio antennae broke off about a half an hour into the patrol, so we had no way of calling it in. We’ve spent the whole time just trying to make it back here. We didn’t lose anyone, but it was close. Had to give a few of them a brain buster when we were creeping through the woods, sir.”

  Cage nodded at the slang the men used for sneaking up behind one of the dead and shoving a knife in at the base of its skull and up into the brain. It was the best way to dispose of them without alerting any others that might be around. It was a silent way of killing the dead and was supposed to be used only in situations of extreme noise discipline, but Cage knew it was also how they initiated new men into the unit. Newbie’s were sent out by themselves and had to make a kill in this way before they were accepted into a squad. The nose or ears were taken from the body to prove they had done it.

  “Got even worse news, sir,” Jones continued. “We had to circle the whole compound trying to find a way in, and we ran into Z’s everywhere. Before, they were only on two sides of us, but now we’re surrounded. It’s almost like they’re waiting for something. We watched them milling around like they do, but this was different. They kept looking at the compound and moaning as if they were in pain.”

  Cage raised an eyebrow but said nothing about this new development. He noticed that the men and women around him were listening intently to Jones report and decided that until he figured out what was going on, the less said the better. Rumors flew around every day, ranging from word they were being relieved, all the way to the United States was folding under the onslaught of the dead, and he didn’t want to add fuel to the fire.